Special Guest Sunday - Raven McAllan

Hi Everyone,

This is a very special occasion!  Starting this week on my blog, I will  have a special guest on Sunday to discuss writing.  This week my special guest is Raven McAllan.  Thank you, Raven, for stopping by.

Crafts anyone?

So what do you consider is a craft? Crochet? Macrame? Water color painting? Or Maybe you'd say Zumba, ballroom dancing or yoga?

Does anyone think of adding writing to the list?

You see writing is a craft of many parts. It's not enough to put pen to paper or fingers to keys, you have to know your characters, reveal them to your readers and more importantly…to yourself.

I think this is one of the hardest things, as an author I personally can do. Because we are all individuals, and as such all have very different ideas of how you come to love or hate a hero. We as authors have to find that fine line that makes the maximum number of people believe.

That can be difficult.

I'm one of those people who don't like a lot of description of my hero or heroine. I like to make my own mind up about how they look. Give me hair color, eye color height etc…that's fine. I personally, don't like to be told they look like the actor so and so, or the politician you know who.

But some people do, and I need to remember that. That doesn't mean to say I do a detailed description of my characters, I don't. It's make your mind up time. I'm happy if you think hero a looks like actor b and heroine c looks like the female kick-ass politician D. But truthfully, as I write he's my idea of a hot-bod, and it doesn't fit any one person. As long as you have your vision in your head, and you write that vision, then your readers will get it/him/her.

In my latest book, A Shimmer Of Silk,) released Thursday 17^th from www.evernightpublishing.com ) which is book two of my series The House On Silk Street, (book one is Solver Silk ties)I gave general ideas of how my characters looked. They are very vivid in my mind. However, unless I say er well, my friend Cairsti's hair, my daughter's eyes and that woman from that old game show's smile, I can't go into so many details. This is where I hope I've given you enough to use your imagination. And if you want to see the heroine as Lily Cole and the hero as Johnny Depp, that's fine with me.

Here's a taster or two.

Blurb…

Deborah may not know the full truth of her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul.

During one of her performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.

Persuading her that their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience.

Will Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare her too much to even try?

Are the nightmares simply too strong?

And a excerpt

Oliver speculated what was going through her mind as she lay on the bench, her body stretched and her face devoid of expression.

"Do it," Luc said. "For the love of God and De…her, do it now. Do not make her wait. That is cruel."

He was not a cruel man. Even as he wondered what Luc had been going to say, when he had stopped mid-word, Oliver held the candle high and watched. As if in slow motion the tiny tears of wax dripped and hit her skin. To him it was a caress, a bite of pain, which would morph into a swell of pleasure, and a hint of things to come. A gift he could give her. If he thought they had the chance.

"Another." Luc was insistent. "As we discussed. Now. While she is within herself."

His phrasing intrigued Oliver. Nevertheless, he tipped the taper once more, and created the patterns they had agreed upon. By now his peers were cheering, the sight of her soft flesh covered in the ribbons of cooling wax a turn on to all those there. Even if it was not their own preference, each could appreciate how something so misunderstood, and called deviant by many, was so necessary to others.

In one way it seemed an aeon before Luc indicated he was done. In another scant seconds. He handed the stub of the candle to Luc and took his bow, before he turned to the woman still supine in front of him. With what the watchers would see as theatrical, he bent his head. To all intents and purposed he was offering a soft kiss to her neck. In reality he moved and nipped her earlobe. "It is over. Come, make your bow and let us take you out of here."

******

It was one thing to agree to accompany Oliver; it was another to do it with insouciance and style. Deborah hung onto her composure by a thread. One word out of place, one unaccustomed challenge, and she feared she would fall to pieces. But deep inside her was an excitement she had never felt before. The recognition of hope and arousal that she sensed would over come any negative feelings, or doubts, within her.

He took her hand and tucked it into his as they walked along a brightly lit, deserted corridor. There were no doors to break the flow of the walls, just lamps at regular intervals. "We will see no one unless you wish it. My apartments are mine alone. Nevertheless, Felton knows you are with me, and I have given him my word, as I did to Luc, we will do nothing without your acceptance. I promise you this also. Our life will be ours. Not for us anything others want, it will be as we desire." He stopped suddenly and pulled her into his arms.

His cock pressed against her quim, and Deborah's breath hitched. Her mouth was dry, as she felt her juices run. It seemed preferable not to look down, for she was sure the pantaloons she wore would show the marks of her excitement. As Oliver's lips touched hers, she opened her mouth and let his tongue in, to mimic the act she knew they would enjoy later. As he thrust, she couldn't help but grind her cunt against his prick.

Oliver lifted his head. "Soon, love. You taste of nectar."

He tastes of hope.

Within minutes she was standing in a small entrance hall. Deborah looked round her, hoping to get an idea of the preferences of the man. It was bland, almost conventional with cream walls and a pale green a chaise set next to a drum table against one wall. The only splash of color was a bright gold and red cushion thrown carelessly to one end of the chaise. Oliver had evidently picked up on her puzzlement.

"This is for servants to deliver food etcetera. For visitors to wait in and for us to pass through as swift as we can. Are you ready? If not now is the time to say so. You can pull the rope and a servant will escort you to your room."

Her stomach was churning but with excitement not fear. The shivers she felt were those of anticipation, not worry.

"I thought this was now my room? To share with you? Are you reneging, my lord?" His face was a picture of astonishment. Deborah couldn’t help herself; she burst into laugher. "Oh, my lord, you should see your expression. It is a sight to behold. Truly, if I ever feel threatened, uncomfortable, or unable to sustain aught we do, I will say so. My safe word is sauf."

"Your safe word?" he said slowly. "What do you know of safe words?"

"Nothing except if we are to discover my limits, we need to decide on one. A word which if I utter, you will desist immediately in whatever activity we are partaking. That is not to say you will not return to the, er subject at a later date, once we have discussed any reluctance or questions I may have. Ah, Oliver, do you think I did not know the reasons why this house exists? Even if our, that is mine and Luc's enquiries, had not told us enough, Lord Dalrey was insistent we knew where and the likes of whom we were entertaining."

"And you are happy with this?"

She giggled. "Until I taste what you have in mind for us, how do I know?" Deborah thought it was a reasonable question in the circumstances. "In theory, I know some activities will be good, some will push me, and strain my thoughts and mind. Indeed, some things may be beyond my endurance and I cry stop. But which fits where has yet to be determined. Nevertheless, I wish to see what you deem suitable for us. I need, I must, discover myself." She dare not say more. Indeed, she would have been hard pressed to do so. Deborah had no idea how to describe the turmoil her emotions were in.

He gave her a sharp glance but didn't comment.

"Sauf it is." Oliver pushed open a door. "After you."

An imp of mischief made her curtsey and she saw the glint in his eyes.

"One day, your sauce will be your undoing, my love, I will remember."

She was sure he would. In a strange way she looked forward to it.

I've given you the general picture. You need to frame it…

Happy reading

Love R x

Find me here…

http://www.ravenmcallan.com

http://www.ravenmcallan.blogspot.com

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https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallan (author page)

https://twitter.com/RavenMcAllan

Raven Bio

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.

Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)

Wow, that was hot!  Thank you so much Raven for stopping by.  Loved the excerpt. If you have any thoughts/opinions about character descriptions, or about this amazingly hot excerpt, please feel free to post in the comments below.